


Theft

by Sineala



Category: The Lantern Bearers - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Psychic Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aquila steals a wolf. Then he steals his freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theft

**Author's Note:**

> Fusion with the premise of the Iskryne universe: there are psychic wolves bonded to humans. (Usually the psychic wolves also dubcon their humans -- it's a Pern-style setup -- but there's no dubcon in this one.) Mostly I wanted to see if a psychic wolf would make Aquila happy.
> 
> Thanks to Carmarthen and Osprey_Archer for beta!

Life in Jutland was harsh, harsher than in Britain, and Aquila should not have been surprised to find that when Bruni's bitch whelped a great litter of pups, the Jutes would let the runts die. Of course there was not enough milk for the mother to nurse them all. The harvest had been scanty, and there was scarcely enough grain for the people, much less the wolves. One did what one must. But there was a pang of sadness in him as he watched the littlest one mewl hungrily, pressing up against its brothers and sisters. It was a little scrap of dark fur, its eyes not even open. It had no chance, and Thormod laughed and nudged it away with his foot. 

Aquila felt raw, burned by it, and it seemed that he had not felt anything like this in a while, or anything at all other than sorrow for Flavia's fate. Before he could think about what he was doing, he picked up the cub, who was small enough to fit in one hand.

"I will have this one," he said, daring, glaring about the room.

Thormod scoffed. "A fighting wolf is not for a thrall, and they are too young for men at any rate. Let that weakling die. There is no food for him."

Aquila lifted his head. "I am given my own food, yes? I will feed the cub from what is mine."

Across the room, Bruni cleared his throat. "Let him have the beast, Thormod. It is like to die, and if it does not, then I shall have a clever thrall who has the knowledge of words and a wolf, and all men will know that we are so prosperous that we have beasts to spare for even our thralls. A runt is no threat to you."

* * *

Aquila fed the creature every day, from twists of rags dipped into warm goat's milk. The cub was so small he could feel the beast's heartbeat under his fingers, and every day he wondered if he had done the right thing. He had no idea what he was doing. They had not had wolves in the legions for hundreds of years, and if there were any bonded men still in Britain, they were warriors of the tribes in the far west or the north, in lands where Aquila had never set foot. Only the Saxons -- and the Jutes, he supposed -- fought with wolves now, and if there was a skill to nursing a wolf that could be learned, he certainly did not think he possessed it.

Perhaps he had made a mistake, taking this on. The beast would weaken and die, and already he thought he might be coming to care for the thing. It was a dangerous thing, caring.

A week later, while Aquila was feeding him, the wolf opened his eyes for the first time. They were clear eyes, blue like any newborn's, full of life and spirit. The wolf blinked, fuzzily, a few times, and the first thing he focused on was Aquila's face. And, quite suddenly, there was something in Aquila where before there was nothing, where men who were as other men must keep all their feelings, where for a long time there had been only blankness. But now there was a warmth in him, a kind of fierce affection. He did not dare call it love.

_Mine_ , he thought, and the cub stared sleepily up at him and batted him with a paw.

"What is your name, hmm?" he said, softly, under his breath, in British, and he knew from then on that he would never speak to his wolf in the Saxon tongue.

He did not expect a reply, but he got one. At first he thought it was the scent of the hearthfire, but it was a warm spring day and the fires were not lit. There the smell was, nonetheless, the woodsmoke crackling away in his nose, harsh and astringent.

"Ignis," he whispered. "We will be the flame against the darkness, you and I," and he remembered Rutupiae Beacon and had to close his eyes.

* * *

Thormod -- who bonded to the finest, biggest wolf of the litter -- called him Runt, of course, and so everyone else in the household did as well. It never seemed to occur to anyone to ask what Aquila called him, just as they never asked what Aquila's name had been before it was Dolphin. That suited Aquila well.

And while Ignis was never going to be the largest of the fighting wolves, he began to grow into a respectable size, aided by every scrap of food Aquila could spare. Aquila had named him better than he knew, for when Ignis lightened into his adult colors, his eyes were amber and his fur distinctly reddish, like fire itself. He was a lean wolf, but a dangerous one. Every so often Aquila saw Thormod eyeing him with worried glances, for Ignis was not truly part of the wolf-pack, having already been rejected as a cub. He was only Aquila's, and as such he was unpredictable.

Perhaps that was why they put a thrall-ring on Ignis. A thrall-ring for a thrall's wolf. It made sense, in a sick, hideous way.

Ignis snarled as they led him to the smith. _Bite them_ , he said, and he snapped his teeth.

_They will take you away from me if you do_ , thought Aquila, horrified, though he could not disagree with the sentiment. He began to see, now, why slaves were never permitted wolves in the ordinary way of things.

Ignis' tail lashed harder and he growled again. _Kill them. If they keep me from you._ It was not an improvement.

_We will leave_ , he thought, as the iron locked round Ignis' neck. _We will not be slaves forever, brother_ , he thought, and that was when he knew he had to win free somehow, even if Flavia was dead, because Aquila would not suffer them to keep his wolf in chains.

* * *

When Aquila read the Odyssey for Bruni -- though now, it was more a matter of reciting the Odyssey -- much of the household liked to listen, if they were not busy. This included the wolves, and today Ignis had stretched himself out by the hearth like any hound, lulled into half-sleep by the rise and fall of Aquila's voice. When Aquila rolled the scroll up, having finished for the afternoon, Ignis tilted one great ear back at the sound of the rustling.

_That is a good story_ , said Ignis. _But it is not your story._

The wolf never said much about stories -- wolves, Aquila thought, must have their own -- and it was a curious thing to say, at any rate. 

_It is a story I read with my father_ , said Aquila in reply, frowning, though of course he did not say it aloud. _It is a story of my people. And am I not far from home, like Odysseus?_ For of course this was how he had imagined himself, when he could bear to remember the words of Flavia's--

Ignis' tail thumped on the ground in disagreement. _You are, and you are clever as he is, but you are not he. Have you no other stories, among your people?_

He thought about it for a long time. _There is a story, the story before the story of Odysseus, about a great city, and about a war there._ It seemed silly to describe it so simply, but he tried it nonetheless. _It is a story about a man named Achilles, who was the greatest warrior of his people, and his anger when a woman he owned, a slave-woman, was taken from him. But that is not all it is, you understand._ He was about to mention Achilles' wolfsister, thinking that that part of the tale would play best to a wolf, but already Ignis had sat up and was looking at him with cool, fierce eyes. Interested eyes.

_How does it start?_

At least, in his mind, there was no troublesome business of translating. _Rage -- Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles._

Ignis tilted his head. _Yes_ , he said. _Rage. That is right. That is your story._

It could not be. _No one has stolen anything from me._

Ignis stood then and padded forward until he was pushing into Aquila's hand with his great wedge-shaped head. _My brother_ , said the wolf, _they stole you._

* * *

Flavia pressed the emerald ring into his shaking hands, and at first Aquila did not understand. And then he did, all at once, and it was awful.

"Bring the babe," he said, hoarsely. "Come with us. You can run. We can all run."

"A Saxon child?"

"Then leave him," he said, not knowing the right thing to say, to make her change her mind. "Leave him with your Saxon husband."

Flavia had gone pale, and her words were cutting. "And if I asked you to leave your wolf?"

Reflexively, his hand went to Ignis' head; Ignis' ears were flat to his skull, in pain or fright, and he did not know if that meant Ignis thought he might do it. "That is different."

Ignis shifted just enough to rest his muzzle against Aquila's fingers. The feel of him was a comfort. _She has her own pack. Brother, we must go._

He stared, numbly. He could have been angry, or sad; he did not know quite how he felt, but the wolf-feeling in the back of his head was a distant sorrow, and perhaps that would serve for him as well.

"I will miss you," he said, at last.

"I know." She embraced him fiercely, then turned and offered her hand to Ignis, in farewell. Aquila knew then that for that alone, he could not hate her; it was more than he could have done for her. "Run fast, brothers."

He nodded. "We will."

* * *

Ignis' paws made no sound as he paced at Aquila's side through the grass, still dew-covered in the morning. The air was cool, and the wind stung against Aquila's galled throat. The wound was not quite healed, but it was good enough to travel on. Besides, Ignis had made no complaint, and his own wounds had been worse; Brother Ninnias had had to cut away a great deal of his ruff, which had knotted itself into the awful collar.

But it was gone now. The past was behind them. If he had not yet found what had been stolen from him -- could not even imagine how to get it back -- at least now they were free. They had time.

_I do not see why we could not stay_ , Ignis said, sounding wistful. _He had honey._

Aquila laughed, and the noise of it was almost startling. He did not know when he had last laughed. It had been a long time. _If it is honey you want, you great lazy oaf, I will buy you honey. I will pledge my sword to Ambrosius Aurelianus, and if he is in as much need of a man with a fighting wolf as I think he is, he will give you honey from his own hands._

Ignis snorted. _I would rather have it from yours_ , he said, and he licked at Aquila's wrist in illustration.

_Then you may._ He was still laughing, delighted.

_How do you know you will like him?_ The question was suspicious. _What if he is not fit to lead the pack?_

Loyalty was a strange thing to explain to a wolf. "I must do this," he said, aloud. "It is what my father would have done."

_That is well_ , said Ignis, finally, and he dropped his jaw in a great lupine grin as he danced in front of Aquila's feet on the path. _But if I do not like him, I will bite him._

"You will not," Aquila said firmly.

_I will nip him_ , Ignis corrected, uncowed. _And then you will say that I will bite him unless he is good to you, and I will growl, just so._ He growled a little, deep in his throat.

How in the world did he have such a devious wolf? Aquila tried to come up with a reprimand, but at first he could do nothing except smile.

"Brother," said Aquila, as sternly as he could, lacing his fingers into Ignis' fur and leaning on him as they stood together at the top of the hill, "we will discuss this, thoroughly, before we reach Arfon."

There was a long way still to go, but with his wolf at his side, he would not mind the journey.


End file.
